DeNile
by Tempestt
Summary: Bulma and Vegeta are cast back in time. They must work together, but as temptation and jealousy tear them apart returning home seems hopeless. Can they overcome all obstacles personal and physical or will they be forever lost in DeNile?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ. I mean seriously. We all know if I wrote it there would be a hell of a lot more sexy going on.

WARNING: Gratuitous use of the word woman. It's disgusting really. Not only do I over use it but I've made up a whole reason for its use that is in no way supported by canon. But that's what I do. Make shit up.

No matter how I stray. I always return to my dark prince.

A while back the awesome people at the _We're Just Saiyan _community had a challenge to place our favorite couple in different historical time periods. This is my contribution. It's only, oh, about a year late. Those of you who haven't visited _We're Just Saiyan _should. There's a link on my homepage.

**De-Nile**

Chapter One

"Woman!"

Bulma jumped three feet off the ground and clutched the _extremely sensitive _time dilation device to her chest. If she dropped it, Kami only knew what would happen. Visions of West City being turned into a sinkhole danced in her mind.

"Woman!" the arrogant, asshole male bellowed again.

"I have a name!" she shrieked, spinning around to face him as he entered her lab, which was _off limits _to everyone, including her father.

Vegeta ignored her. Just like he ignored her rules, her feelings, her…._desires. _Wait. Where did that come from? There were no desires. Not for the regimental alien who was wound so tight he probably shat diamonds. Even if he was (Kami help her) not wearing a shirt.

Bulma eyed him as he stalked up to her, wearing only a pair of loose, black training shorts. They shimmered in the diffused afternoon light and her fingers twitched to test if they were silky to the touch. As her gaze wondered downwards her analytical mind tried to suss out if he was wearing underwear or if he preferred hanging loose. Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes to the ground. Damn, even his feet were bare, and why was that sexy?

"You will increase the gravity output in your inferior training room."

Bulma's brain was stuck in neutral, trying absorb how it was physically possible for the horrible little man to have the most perfect six pack to ever be in existence. Not only a six pack, but an absolutely lickable v-cut was revealed as his shorts rode dangerously low on his hips. He would have to be God's gift. _Prick._

"Not likely," she sneered. "You will just have to make do with all that frustrating inferiority. Maybe it will give you time to think or maybe learn stuff. _Like my name!" _

She started to turn away, but he jerked her around by the arm and then very slowly walked her back into the wall. She could feel the imprint of his fingers on the bare, sensitive flesh of her underarm, and she double damned herself for wearing the white, sleeveless sundress.

Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, and heat flooded her entire body. She tried desperately not to react. This was just Vegeta and his impotent intimidation tactics. He couldn't kill her, couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to do. Even his grip on her arm was gentle. The man was so strong he could break her without even trying. She was sure it took more effort on his behalf _not_ to hurt her.

All he had were harmless threats and bluster. Lately, he had taken into moving into her personal space, having figured out that she would eventually agree to whatever he wanted just to get the hell away from him.

"Increase the gravity distribution to five hundred by tonight." Once he had her corralled against the wall, he dropped his hand away, crossing his arms over his chest as if anchoring himself against touching her. By the way his muscles strained, she didn't think it was nice touches either. She never forgot what a dangerous animal he was. He never let her.

She wasn't going to be intimidated. Not today. She was on a cusp of a monumental breakthrough. That crazy, purple-haired kid traveled back to warn them about the androids in a Capsule Corporation time machine. It was completely obvious to anyone with half a brain that she was the one to develop the technology, so dammit she was going to develop it if it killed her. She hated not knowing something. Worse, she hated it when someone outsmarted her, including her own self!

She propped one hand on her hip, clutching the small device to her breast with the other. "Or what, Vegeta? You going to give me a brutal tongue lashing? Oh, I know! You'll scowl me to death."

She couldn't help to notice how his dark eyes traveled slowly down the length of her body when she mentioned a tongue lashing, lingering at her breasts and sex before meeting her gaze again. Since she was almost positive he was a eunuch, he couldn't possibly be having sexy thoughts about her. Which meant behind those lingering looks he was calculating the many different ways he was going to kill her when he became stronger than Goku.

"You will do this," he commanded.

"No, I will not," she shot back.

She could actually feel the heat off his body, the angrier he became. Six inches away and he was radiating heat like her own personal furnace. She wondered if that made it harder or easier to deal with hot weather. Personally, she hated the heat. Oh, she liked to sunbath on occasion, but to her there was nothing worse than the height of summer without any relief in sight. Sweat trickled down the length of her spine and she tried to move further away from him, but the very rude wall behind her was unaccommodating.

He, on the other hand, moved closer. Smirking like he knew exactly what the problem was. _Bastard_.

"Give me what I want." His voice was a low purr that rumbled across her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. This was an entirely new tactic. She almost shimmied out of her damp panties and handed them over right then and there, even as she knew that wasn't what he was asking for. Why did assholes have to be so sexy? Why was she attracted to them? Was it a karma thing? Had she done something horrific in another lifetime?

Her cocked hand slipped off her hip to hang loosely at her side. She knew her lips were parted because she could feel her fast, almost panicked breaths, rapidly drying the thin, delicate tissues. She licked them moist again, swallowing when his dark eyes followed her tongue.

"Fine, Vegeta." She paused, trying to regain her sense of balance. Her ploy wouldn't work if it looked as if she lost all her bravado. "I'll increase the gravity output. _But _only if you can say my name."

Ahh. There was that pretty scowl. She had almost missed it. It meant they were on equal ground. No weird sexy vibes from him, and no irrational urges to mount him like a prime stud from her.

"This is not an acceptable exchange of services," he growled. Wow. He looked really irritated. Inside a little voice crowed in victory. She schooled her features into a thoughtful frown.

"You're right. It's not. Increasing the gravity would take _at least _twelve hours of my very precious and costly time. Whereas you saying my name would take all of three seconds." She tapped her pouty lower lip with her forefinger. "Maybe I should ask for something more besides my name."

"You know not of what you ask, woman."

"Ugggh!" She threw up her hand. She was surprised when he didn't flinch. Everyone else did, including Goku who could squash her like a bug if he wanted. "There you go again. Woman, woman woman. Is that all you know how to say?"

"That is what you are, is it not?" He scanned her body and this time there was no hint of heat. The look he gave her spoke volumes of his doubt of her sex, much less her sexiness. Oh no, he didn't!

"Look here, Mister I'm the Prince of Diddly Squat. I get that you've been roving around the vastness of space in your dinky little egg pod for most of your adult life with only yourself and your crew of butt monkeys to keep you company, but I can assure you I am a woman." She motioned to the well-developed curves of her body. "A very sexy, desirable woman. Men fall over themselves just to learn the pleasure of _my name," _she spat.

"I do not fall over any woman." Sometime during their argument they had moved closer to each other and the spicy male scent of him washed over her senses. No one so bad should smell so damn good. It was like a Venus flytrap for women. As soon as you sniffed in his direction, he'd gobble you right up.

"Color me shocked! You're so uptight I doubt you'd even know what to do with a woman if you ever got one."

Huh. She didn't know someone could actually imitate the personification of wrath. His tanned skin was flushed a nice healthy ruddy color and his eyes were black flames of death. Oh, yeah. He was pissed. Predictably that urged her on more. Other people's rage was her catnip.

"I can see now why you're a dying race. If all your men treated your women like this I can see why there was no procreation going on. I mean, my God. How hard is it to say a name?"

_Houston, we have a problem._

His arms dropped from their usual, 'I'm-the-shit-bow-at-my-feet' pose, his hands fisted along his thighs. He crowded her space until she was plastered against the wall and he still kept coming until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers. To make room for him, she dropped her hand that was holding the time device to along her side. He edged even closer, planting one hand on the wall above her head. She was well and truly trapped. He could do _anything _to her. And why did that thought make her breath hitch and her sex tingle?

"On Vegeta-sai women were precious. Jewels to be cherished. Their worth was beyond measure. A man wasn't truly a man until he found a mate to complete him."

Bulma was so hot she thought she might melt onto the wall like paraffin. One of her lab assistants was going to have to scrap her off with a putty knife. The rise in her body temperature had nothing to do with the heat of his body, but the flames in his dark eyes. He was staring into her eyes so intensely that she was on the cusp of igniting. She desperately needed to regain control of the situation before she threw herself at him like an overeager, untrained Cyprian harlot.

She swallowed, almost not wanting to speak and destroy the moment, but vanity demanded she do so. No man, no matter how scary, was going to intimidate her. "So I guess, you're half a man then." She hid her cringe as she spoke. She expected him to burst into a homicidal rage. Traveling with male companions over the years taught her how seriously men took their masculinity. Vegeta was the most masculine man she had ever met. She was certain he wouldn't take her insult kindly.

"Your words are true," he replied softly. She almost forgot they were in her lab and not in some silk covered boudoir exchanging secrets; their arrangement was so intimate. He was so contentiously in her personal space. Crowding her, yet she didn't feel threatened.

"I am but half a man without my mate. And I always will be for there are no Saiyan females left."

Well, for fuck's sake. Wasn't she three kinds of a bitch?

She softened, which, _hello _Bulma Briefs here. She never softened. She was proud of her bitch skills. Diligently honed them with unerring accuracy, usually on her male friends, just because she liked to see them squirm.

She tried for a little upfront honesty, which was a whole new ball game for them, but she thought it might be worth it - worth forging a connection between herself and this stoic man who was suffering beneath all his pride. It was clear to see, if anyone would bother to look.

"I just don't understand why you won't call me by my name. It's hurtful when you treat me like a nameless automaton here to service you."

One dark brow rose, and Bulma was sure her entire body flushed bright red when she realized how suggestive her comment sounded. He rested both hands on the wall, sliding them up so he was stretched over her like a great big cat basking in the sun. The movement canted his body forward so his chest brushed over hers in a light caress that hardened her nipples into diamond tips.

He dipped his head so his nose was almost, but not quite, at the crux of her neck and shoulder. He inhaled deeply and instinctively she knew he was scenting her, like a predator after its prey.

"On my world a man must never address a woman by name who is not his. To do so is to disrespect the woman and her family." He lifted his head to look directly into her eyes. What she saw there made all the small, interior muscles in her womb clench. She never saw him look so vulnerable, and she suspected she never would again. In a heated moment of spontaneity she made herself defenseless with unveiled honesty, and in turn he reciprocated with his own truth.

Softly he touched her hair, almost as if it would shatter with rough handling. He rubbed the silky strands between his thumb and forefinger.

"So you see, woman." His eyes slid away from hers, as if in the final moments, he couldn't bear to see what he thought he could never have. "I will never call you by your name, because you will never be mine."

"Oh." The word left her in a soft, painful gasp. It physically hurt in the center of her chest, as if he had struck her and pierced her heart. She wasn't certain if it was her pain or his she felt. Yamcha would vehemently deny that Vegeta felt anything except homicidal rage, but Bulma knew differently. The man before her was a mosaic of emotion. You only had to pull back the defensive scales to look.

He drew away, his hands dropping back to his sides, his heat receding. She panicked, reaching for him with both hands. To do what she wasn't sure. Touch him, hold him, most definitely try to kiss him. There was a loud voice inside her, jumping up and down in a short cheerleading skirt and pom poms that was screaming that she would _so_ be his girl, if he'd just drop the whole bastard act every once in a while and look at her like he was right then.

It wasn't until both hands made contact with the wide expanse of his muscular chest did she realize her mistake.

"Oh, fuck—"

A blinding light flared outwards from where they stood. It was a kaleidoscope of colors. White at the center, blue, purple and red at the edges. The world around them wavered, then straightened out, stretching into impossible lines. Weight crushed Bulma's chest and she realized it was her own lungs, expanding with air until she couldn't exhale. She scrabbled for Vegeta, but she couldn't find purchase on his slick, rounded muscles. Strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her close and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. The whirling and twirling made her stomach heave so she closed her eyes and hung on. The world was ripped away and they were falling for an eternity into well that was endlessly deep and indecipherably dark. As she clung to Vegeta all she could think was that at least she was finally touching him.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ. And trust me. I am in desperate need of profit.

A/N: Attention all you Ancient History historians. This is by no means accurate. I'm doing wacky things like introducing bronze weapons and probably allowing for a higher level of technology that was present in 2560 BCE. Don't make me google when the chariot was invented. Events, as documented by archeological evidence, are going to be all out of order, and magic and the supernatural are going to play heavily in this fic. That being said, I am trying to stay accurate to the region as far as goods, textiles and trade. As for customs and religion? I won't steer you wrong when it comes to gods, but who really knows what those priests got up to in their big shiny temples. Just think of me as a Hollywood big wig. Just making it up as I go along cause it looks pretty.

Thank you for such a warm and enthusiastic response to this fic. I will try desperately not to disappoint you all.

**DeNile**

Chapter Two

The air around them popped and all the breath building painfully in Bulma's lungs left her in a long, pressurized gasp. After the total lack of sensation, the sudden bombardment of sight and sound staggered her. She clasped at the strong, protective body wrapped around her. The hot, white glare of light was blinding, making her eyes burn. A subtle, musky scent filled her as she pressed her face into Vegeta's throat to protect her eyes.

His arms tightened around her waist and she felt safe despite the shrieking din of cries that filled the air and a discordant beat that came from beneath them. The ground shook in time with the deep, uneven rumble and would have knocked her to her knees if she hadn't been supported. Fine grains of sand shifted beneath her feet, sliding over her strappy sandals and burnt the delicate skin between her toes.

A shadow fell over them, blocking out the sun. She turned in Vegeta's arms, blinking her raw eyes, bringing her surroundings into focus.

Bulma froze in terror.

A gleaming, black monstrosity reared threateningly in front of them. From her angle all she could see was the creature's underbelly, along with its multi-jointed legs sticking out at sharp, articulated angles from its long segmented body. Mangled bits of bloody flesh danged from sharp thorns sprouting off the stilted legs at piercing downward angles, as if it had stomped through the wilderness searching purposely for wild creatures to impale.

Its smooth, armored scales gleamed like lake water under the full moon and for one heart-stopping moment she could see her horrified reflection in the black glass sheen of its exoskeleton.

There was a loud crack as its serrated pinchers clacked the air above their heads. Bulma shrank away, her entire body trembling with fear, but Vegeta stood behind her with calm certainty. One hand splayed protectively across her belly as he gazed with faint, strategic interest up at the monster.

His composure soothed her nerves, allowing her to see details she had missed in her panic. There were leather braces around the chest and upper legs, attached to wooden leads, but with its tail curled threateningly overhead, she couldn't see what it pulled.

The tail captured her attention entirely. _Scorpion, _the chaos of her mind screamed. _Impossible, _the muffled voice of logic insisted. Scorpions did not grow to the size of houses.

As she stood there, struck dumb with horror, its long curved tail swooped overhead, drilling down towards her. The venom sac at the end of the tail was as large as a horse's head and the protruding spike was as long as her arm. The creature wasn't going to poison her. It was going to slam that spike straight through her chest until it pinned her to the ground.

Suddenly she was falling backwards, the bare skin of her shoulder, sliding along Vegeta's naked chest. She landed on the ground with an unladylike grunt, her white skirt flipped up around her thighs, her legs bent and spread as if waiting for her lover.

Bulma could care less, because that two foot long spike was arching down in a deadly strike aimed directly for Vegeta's heart. The black barb struck him with a meaty _thwack _that was somehow louder than the earthquake rumble that was engulfing them.

The shrill scream that ripped from her throat could have disrupted aircraft. Vegeta shuddered, and with a terrified sob she thought for sure he was going to crumple dead at her feet. Instead he cast her a look over his shoulder that was so full of contempt that her terror instantly dried up under the intensity of her heated annoyance.

Her eyes narrowed and the jerk had the audacity to smirk back at her.

She dropped her gaze to his chest. Instead of impaling him, the scorpion's stinger was barely dinting his rock-hard pectoral. Thick, yellow venom dripped down his chest, sizzling impotently. Bulma scooted away. One drop of the viscous fluid would more than likely kill her dead.

Still looking at her, his head cocked and arrogant, Vegeta wrapped one hand around the stinger to keep it from retracting. His dark gaze dropped to her spread legs and the triangle of white satin between them. The flush that suddenly engulfed her body had nothing to do with the blistering sun overhead. She slammed her legs together, yanking the hemline over her knees.

"Asshole," she hissed.

His full lips curved as if he wanted to say something equally nasty back, and her breath hitched in her chest with excited expectation.

The scorpion, realizing its tail was captured, screamed at a high decibel pitch that had Bulma covering her ears, and Vegeta nearly buckling at the knees.

_A weakness, _Bulma filed the information away with awe. The undefeatable Saiyan had a weakness. As if hearing her thoughts, his body tightened into deadly lines. He straightened his unhindered arm, his palm perpendicular to his body. Blue arcs of lighting formed in his hand, licking around his fingers, and twining around his thick wrist.

She whipped her head to the side, hiding her eyes in the crook of her arm. Light flared, bright and burning. There was a sound like the crack of lightning, then a rush of electricity in the air that made the fine hairs on her body stand on end. The scorpion's screech was drowned out by a loud boom that rocked her entire body.

Round pellets rained down on her. They were hot, burning where they touched her bare skin. She hissed, trying to shield herself, but her light dress was little protection against the hail of fire.

Head down, she was aware when a shadow loomed over her and the burning touches stopped. Blinking, she looked up expecting to see Vegeta laughing at the clumsy human girl, but all she saw was the wide expanse of his back as he stared out at something she couldn't see. The ground around her was showered with round beads of obsidian until the golden sand looked as black as dead volcano's mouth.

Tentatively she brushed her fingers over them. They quickly cooled and she rolled a few in her hand. They were glassy and smooth to the touch, but everything inside her writhed in revulsion. Bulma was a woman who believed in science above all things, including religion and magic, but she couldn't deny that the remnants of the scorpion felt like pure evil. She dropped them, wringing her hand with disgust.

Curious as to what Vegeta was staring at, she leaned out to look around him. She covered her sagging mouth with a shaking hand. His blast had traveled for miles, leaving a shiny, black trail in its wake. But on either side of the scorch mark was hundreds upon hundreds of monstrous scorpions, each pulling an elaborate chariot sporting pennants of the color of blood. Jackel-headed men, at least ten feet tall stood at the helm of the chariots. The molted brown and black fur of their heads tapered down to smooth gray skin. They had the chest and arms of men, but beneath their yellow, linen loincloths they had the bent, shaggy hindquarters of a canine.

Darting between the stalking legs of the scorpions and racing alongside the chariots were yipping hyenas the size of horses. One their backs rode red-faced baboons, their ivory fangs glinting in the sunlight as they chattered into the din. Fear tightened her belly. It looked as if hell had been released upon the earth.

"Shield your eyes."

With extreme effort she dragged her gaze away from the advancing demonic death army, only to be enraptured by Vegeta. Sinuous serpents of blue lighting were slithering up his body, arcing and snapping at the air. The sharp, tingly taste of ozone settled on her tongue, wild and tumultuous like a summer storm. She was drawn to his strong, aristocratic profile as he lifted his face to the sky. His nose was long and narrow, his brows dark slashes usually set in anger or annoyance. His eyes drifted closed, and his lashes settled on his razor sharp cheeks. They were long and sooty, almost feminine, and the only thing that softened the hardened lines of his face. Even his mouth was as firm and unyielding as the man.

With his palms out, fingers pointed to the ground and his face upturned he looked like he was communing. Perhaps he was. Connecting on a primordial level with the ancient elements of earth and sky and drawing power from nature itself. He looked every inch a warrior king. Deadly and fierce.

Her breath was being ripped from her in small, needy pants. Her pupils constricted from the sun expanded to see every inch of him. Electricity licked all his exposed, golden skin and it was all she could do to clamp down on the irrational jealousy clawing her belly. _Holy hell. _Was she attracted to him or the raw, sizzling power emanating from him?

_Him. _Definitely him. He _was_ power.

"Vegeta." Her throat locked up and she couldn't say more. What could she say? Compliments from her would only be met with contempt from him.

He tilted his head, glancing over his shoulder at her. Small storms of blue lightning arched in the depths of his black eyes and all the air in her lungs left her in a rush. He was so _beautiful. _Powerful, dangerous – untouchable.

"Your eyes, woman."

Was it her imagination or did he say woman as if it were an endearment - a caress of sound against her skin. She shivered. All the energy he was exuding was making her entire body tingle with awareness. Anticipation strummed her insides. She wanted to know what it would be like for him to touch her when he was like this. When all the power he kept wrapped up so tightly on the inside of him was at the surface. Sparking, zapping, electrifying every cell. To feel it flow around her, over her – in her.

Reluctantly, she fell back onto the sand. She wanted to see. Watch as all that power unfurled and whipped out against his enemies. But she was too weak. Inferior compared to his magnificence. She curled around until her forehead was pressed to the hot sand and the moment felt lost. She felt lost.

Lightning cracked overhead and all her feelings of wonderment fled and apprehension rose up. Loud, piercing cries filled the air, accompanied by the shrieking of the scorpions and the yipping of the hyenas. Underneath it all was the soft pelting sound of stone hitting sand.

She whimpered, trying to make herself as small as possible as the visceral, electric representation of power whipped around her. Her knee brushed against something sharp and hard. A rock, she thought, but as her fingers wrapped around the heated metal she realized it was her time dilation device.

Relief whooshed through her. Hunched up on her knees, her forehead pressed to the ground, there was a small space between her and the ground where she could examine the device. Determinedly, she ignored the deadly illuminations of light flashing around her.

As far as she could tell the device was inactive. Bulma didn't have the tools necessary to open the back panel to inspect the power core, but all the displays were dark.

Of course, it was dead! That was the major problem with the device she'd been trying to overcome in her lab. The power core could only hold enough juice for a one-way trip. She had been trying to figure out a way to boost the power when Vegeta arrogantly strolled in and fucked their entire world!

What if the board was fried? The entire electrical system? Was it possible to recharge it? Was there even a large enough power source here? For that matter, where was here?

She was damned smart, but even she needed a basic level of technology to perform her special brand of magic. Technology that wasn't available in the stone-freakin'-age. _Kami_, where were they? Did she even want to know? Were they even on Earth anymore? Never in her vast and varied schooling had there been any mention of giant scorpions and jackal-men in the archeological record.

Wouldn't it be just like her to invent something that not only allowed travel through time, but to other dimensions? Maybe other worlds. She _was _a genius. Sometimes she was smarter than even she knew.

_Gawd! _ What if this was the future? She hadn't even thought of that. Ewww, a future filled with giant bugs.

While her mind raced through a multitude of possibilities, she was giving the device a thorough examination. It was definitely drained, but the electrical seemed to be in working order. But without a way to charge the device with the enormous amount of power needed to bend the fabric of time, its only use was as a fancy-dancy calendar.

Fuck! This was so freakin' bad. Like bad on a whole new level of bad that she was used to. Wherever they were, chocolate had better be invented, because Bulma had the sinking feeling that she was going to need it in the months, probably even years to come.

Lost in her misery, she slowly became aware of the deadly stillness in the air. The sun beat down relentlessly on her bare shoulders, baking the sweat back into her skin before it truly escaped her pores. She shifted and the world tilted. At her downward angle, all the blood had rushed to her head. Which, could account for her panic, she excused. Bulma prided herself on being cool and collected while in danger. How else was she supposed to think her way out a crisis when those dumbass men left her on her own? Memories of her abandonment on Namek by Krillian and Gohan rose up in a bitter bile in her stomach.

She shook off the fuzziness, rising to her knees. She blinked at the sea of glistening black spread out as far as the distant horizon.

_Decimated. _The word rang hollowly in her head. Vegeta had decimated the entire army in less than five minutes. She was both frightened and relieved. Frightened, because Vegeta was hardly stable on a good day. She was more than aware of his murderous tendencies. This casual destruction only highlighted just how dangerous he was. How easy it was for him to take a life. Take her life if he was so inclined.

But it also relieved her. Because no matter how much her logical mind screamed to run screaming, another part of her knew that the safest place on the planet was in Vegeta's shadow. If he decided to lend his protection, then there was nothing that could touch her. And it was clear that wherever they were, the indigenous peoples could not compete with Vegeta's raw power.

The only problem she could foresee was how to become a protectee of Vegeta's. While the man exuded pride and honor, loyalty didn't seem to be a cornerstone of his integrity. He blasted Nappa out of the sky, and as far as Bulma was able to ascertain, they had been companions for nearly Vegeta's entire life.

Bulma clasped the time device close to her chest. It was their only way home. She needed to figure out a way to charge it. And if Vegeta couldn't be relied on to keep her safe while she did that, then she needed to find another protector while she worked.

The ground shifted, and Bulma already recognized the rumble of an approaching army. She whipped around, but all she could see through the watery heat waves in the distance was glints of gold and hints of blue.

Her imagination concocted woman-eating monsters with long fangs and razor claws. Soaring, swooping dragons that breathed fire and wanted to rut on the fair maiden.

Terrified, she scrambled over to Vegeta, wrapping her thin arms around his tree-trunk of a thigh. She had her entire torso pressed to him, her legs sprawled behind her. She looked up, completely unsurprised to find him surveying the battlefield with a scowl stamped on his aristocratic features, while completely ignored the hapless, helpless, defenseless female who'd attached herself to his leg.

_Oh, hell. _This scenario was right off the front cover of one of those gawd-awful bodice rippers with the dainty, mealy-mouthed, horny tart of a slut and the arrogant alpha male who dominated her for her own good. When the hell did she turn into a damsel? And _hello! _No one dominated Bulma Briefs.

She popped up off the ground like a demented jack-in-box from some cheesy b-rated horror movie.

"I'm not a horny tart of a slut!" she blurted out.

Vegeta very carefully glanced over his shoulder at her. His blank expression only served to increase her ire.

"Well, I'm not," she defended.

"You are different." He looked at her, so cool, crisp and _certain. _He didn't need to tell her what was so different about her. She could fill in the blanks. She was a freak of nature and it was his poor luck to be saddled with her.

Bulma's jaw tightened. Forget about the house-sized scorpion demons and their half-man half-jackel masters. Forget they had absolutely no idea where they were. Or for that matter, Bulma thought with a slightly sinking feeling, _when _they were. And just for a moment forget that they were about three seconds from being ground into paste by the next approaching army of made-for-television monsters.

"I'm not different!" she spat, outraged. "I'm brilliant and beautiful. An absolutely delight to be around. You should be so lucky as to be graced with my presence."

She had been called variations of _different_ her entire life. How many times had the murmur of 'freak' followed behind her? The too smart girl with the oblivious parents who allowed their only child to run around the world at the young age of sixteen completely unsupervised. The weirdo who hung out with other freaks, like three-eyed Tien and monkey-tailed Goku. How many times had she stared at herself in the mirror repeating the mantra that her beauty and wit more than made up for her….quirks?

"My mistake, then."

Was he disappointed? His eyes hooded, he dismissed her, turning back to survey the seething ocean rushing towards them cloaked in churning dust and bright sunlight.

Bulma, however, couldn't take her eyes off Vegeta's back. She couldn't understand what she saw in his eyes. For the first time she wondered if different meant special and what exactly did special mean to Vegeta?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ. If I had wrote DBZ, it would have been Vegeta's story, not Goku's.

**DeNile**

Chapter Three

"You can totally take whatever is coming for us, right? Even if it's like, an army of fire-breathing, maiden-ravaging dragons?"

He turned his head to look at her. The sun was beating down on them, and sweat gilded the bronze curve of his muscular shoulder. She moved into his shadow, but only because it was the only spot of shade for miles and her skin was very delicate. Not because he smelled damned good even sweaty. He cocked a dark brow and she could feel the weight of his consideration from her pink-painted toes to the crown of her head.

"Do you want me to 'take' them?"

She was breathless. The abyss of his gaze was somehow able to suck all the oxygen out of their vicinity, straight out of her lungs and into his. She imagined kissing him would feel just as devastating.

"Yes." She knew exactly what she wanted him to take and it had nothing to do with the approaching horde. "Beat them, break them, rend them to pieces. Whatever it takes."

He shifted his entire body to face her then. As if for the first time she had his complete, undivided attention. "I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty, woman."

"Hey, when it comes to my survival I can thirst for blood with the best of them."

"Yes. Because your person is so precious." He sneered the words, but his eyes glinted with something other than disgust.

"Was that sarcasm? I'm sensing sarcasm." She fluffed her hair. Her person _was _precious, thank you very much.

The look he cast her was drier than the Sahara in summer. She tipped her nose into the air with an expression of pure disdain. She may be suffering from a heaping spoonful of lust for the man, but she wouldn't let him bully her. She peeked out of the corner of her eye to make sure he was still watching her.

He wasn't. _Prick._

Thankfully, a completely _human_ army arrayed in glinting armaments of bronze appeared out of the hazy horizon. Bulma thoroughly examined the amazingly clear, pollution free sky for dragons. A smart woman never dismissed a possibility until it was entirely disproven. And knowing her luck, something horrible would swoop down and devour her when she least expected it, just because the universe loved to laugh at her misery.

At the head of each phalanx of striding warriors, who were clothed in nothing more than loincloths and their own sun-bronzed skin was a charioteer in plated armor to command them. The ground soldiers trotted easily to keep up with the chariots, the entire mass moving over the sand in a wave of human flesh.

Unlike the yipping, clacking, jackal-headed army, these men moved with quiet, concentrated precision. They held their javelins proudly at their sides, and their stretched hide shields, reaching from ankle to shoulder, were painted with the image of a fierce falcon.

In front of the entire contingent was an extravagant chariot pulled by a pair of snowy horses, azure ribbons streaming from their elaborately dressed manes. A man and a woman stood on either side of the driver, decked in full battlefield regalia, their headdresses glinting in sunlight.

The tall, gold staff topped with a large metal hoop held by the woman, captured Bulma's attention first. In the center of the hoop hung strings of beads, feathers and other ornamentation. The woman wore a striped black and gold headdress that folded back from her brow and draped over her shoulders in a rough imitation of a cobra hood.

Although she wasn't tall, she stood with stately self-assurance. Epaulets etched in black, spiked in layered sheets from her shoulders, a wide collar decorated in onyx and sapphires protecting her breastbone. Bronze links of chainmail hung from the collar, rippling over her stomach and hips where thick, black linen draped around her legs.

The chariot rattled to a stop, and a slave dropped to the ground, acting as a step for the woman as she descended. She didn't spare the slave a glance as she placed a gold sandaled foot in the small of his back and stepped to the ground. Her armor covered her from head to toe, but somehow she managed to move like she was strolling naked across a moonlight room to where her lover waited on a bed draped in silk. The woman exuded sex, exhaling it like a vapor from her berry-red lips. It was slicked on her golden skin like sweat from her pores.

Bulma was so enthralled she barely noticing when Vegeta edged her behind him. She looked up at him, stricken to see the focused intensity of his eyes as he watched the newcomers. Bulma was beautiful, but the woman in front of them was exquisite, from the tilt of her exotically kohl-lined eyes down to her delicately shaped toes.

Bulma absolutely loathed her.

"Holy mummy wrappings, Batman." Bulma's tone was dry with sarcasm, but underneath there was a wealth of distaste and heaping helping of fear. The clothing the newcomers wore was distinctive. There was no mistaking their origin. "We're in ancient Egypt."

She felt a pang in her chest when Vegeta ignored her. When she followed his line of sight, she realized he wasn't just watching the woman. A man had alit from the chariot as well.

He wore a headdress similar to the woman's, except it was striped azure and gold. His breastplate of hammered bronze, formed to his muscular chest. Beneath his white linen loincloth, his thighs were thick and strong and nearly hairless. In his hands, he competently carried double-headed axes, and finely crafted bow with quiver was strapped to his back. A beaded necklace of sapphires and rubies lay across his breastplate, arrayed into the image of swooping falcon, it's wide, glittering wings tucking behind his neck.

His features were commanding, equaling Vegeta in their arrogance. But it was his eyes that arrested Bulma's attention. Instead of black or dark brown like she expected, they were a deep, bottle green.

The couple paused a few feet from them, an entire army at their backs. Beside her she could feel Vegeta tense for the coming confrontation. Suddenly, as if given a silent order, the entire army fell to their knees, their foreheads to the sand, their arms outstretched in reverence. Bulma stared aghast at the row upon rows of bowed heads and exposed backs.

She glanced at Vegeta, expecting him to be just as startled, but what she saw instead nearly felled her on her ass. His usually cruelly twisted lips were curled at the corners in a faint smile of pleasure. He glanced at her, and the look of covetous greed she saw in the shadowed depths of his eyes made her stomach turn. This was his twisted fantasy come to life.

Vegeta wasn't a man to long for voluptuous women in his bed or a vault full of innumerable riches. Prince Vegeta was a man who desired glory and needed respected. He was a man who longed for the throne denied to him by his deviant master and yearned for the obedience of others at his feet as testament to his greatness.

"Hail to the king, baby," she said snidely in her best Bruce Campbell voice. "As if your obnoxiously large ego needed a boost."

He folded his arms in his most arrogant bow-to-me pose, and impossibly his grin grew even more smug.

As if his arrangement provoked some sort of Pavlovian response, the richly dressed couple dropped to their knees in front of them. The man began to chant in a babble of language Bulma couldn't decipher, raising his hands in the air in supplication. His voice was rich and vibrant with an authoritative edge that made Bulma's belly ripple with excitement.

Bulma never admitted it, but she liked a little dirty talk in bed. Yamcha was always so shy, stuttering with Puritan nervousness over the simplest words and Vegeta was so taciturn she couldn't imagine him losing even an ounce of his precious control to grunt while bedding a woman. But this man on his knees before her, she could imagine whispering dirty nothings in her ear in his strange, lilting voice.

The man came to a lull in his speech and a slave darted forward to help him remove his headdress. Bulma was surprised to see the oil shine of his shaved head. The effect wasn't unattractive. In fact it made him all the more imposing.

The man began to chant again, but this time he repeated only a single word. "Anuket. Anuket."

He dropped to all fours and Bulma watched with rapt fascination as the muscles in his bared forearms rippled, his biceps bunching beneath thick, gold armbands as he panther crawled towards her.

And wow. She just realized she had a kink. A very naughty, _naughty _kink. A man in submission. _To her. _She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Yamcha had been submissive to her, of course. But it had been a cowering type of submission that only served to grate on her nerves. This was a worshipful submission. The bottle green eyes of the pharaoh looked up her with utter wonderment. For him she was a miracle to behold. A queen. An empress-goddess.

Bulma Briefs was a woman with weaknesses. She knew this about herself. Champagne and strawberries were her kryptonite, chocolate her god. She tingled at the touch of satin, and she demanded only the finest Chinese silk lay against her skin. Beauty was to be admired in all its forms, whether it be art, music or an appreciation of nature. But her ultimate weakness was the human aesthetic. Kami save her from beautiful men. Her heart raced, her pulse beat a throb low in her belly, and her fingers curled with the urge to touch. It had always been this way, since the sweet age of sixteen.

Nervous, she glanced at the woman. She saw a flash of distaste in the queen's dark eyes, before she removed her headdress and dropped to all fours. Unlike her consort, she boasted a full head of hair, the blue-black strands falling in straight sheets down to her waist.

"Anuket. Anuket," she chanted in throaty purr and she too began to crawl towards Bulma.

To reach her, they had to pass by Vegeta, and she almost protested when he merely stepped aside to allow them access to her. She had no idea what they wanted with her or why they were kneeling in humility at her feet.

She glanced at Vegeta for reassurance and instead saw cold, hard wrath. It was not directed at the couple who knelt at her feet, kissing the hem of her simple summer dress. It was directed at her for stealing his glory. His exaltation.

She knew in that instant that this had been his dream. Had always been his dream. To have a nation of people kneeling at his feet. Hell, he wanted entire worlds in submission to him. He was a man born to rule yet subjected to slavery. His title of prince used only has a humiliating reminder of what he would never be.

And it had been stolen, yet again. By her.

Bulma opened her mouth to protest, but the pharaoh suddenly rose to his feet, blocking her view of Vegeta. The man was average by her standards, rising above herself and Vegeta, but with less height than Yamcha. But he was powerfully built. This human man may not have the alien physique she was used to seeing in Vegeta and Goku, but he was built like a warrior. His golden skin hugged every curve and dip of his heavily defined muscles.

A bead of sweat trailed down from his temple, gliding along the tendons of his thick neck to the hollow in his throat. She had to swallow to prevent herself from leaning into him and dipping her tongue into that hollow to taste him. She bit down on the urge. The man in front of her was a complete stranger. Attraction to him was inappropriate. And even if there was nothing between her and Vegeta except acrimony, she still felt as if she was betraying him in some small way.

The pharaoh stepped to the side, clasping her under the elbow. She jerked away, jumping towards Vegeta. The sensation of his touch had been far from unpleasant, but there was no way she was going to let some strange man put his hands on her. Instinctively, she sought Vegeta for safety. Something rang hollow in her chest, when Vegeta recoiled from her touch, his face impassive as he studied the pharaoh.

The Egyptian king met Vegeta's cold stare unflinchingly. He swept his arm forward in a respectful indication that they should mount the chariot. Uncertain, Bulma looked to Vegeta. She may be a woman who roamed the world, searching for adventure, but when it came to war she trusted Vegeta's instincts.

Vegeta moved without looking at her. He disdained the slave as he stepped up into the chariot. Bulma followed closely behind, dismayed when she realized that she wasn't tall enough to climb into the chariot without a step up. She refused to step on a human being like they were nothing more than a piece of furniture.

She stretched out her hand, but Vegeta's back was to her, his shoulders taut and proud. Before she could call to him, the pharaoh was at her side. With almost obsequious respect he lifted her into the conveyance. She tried to ignore the shimmer of desire she felt as his strong hands encircled her waist.

There wasn't enough room for all of them in the chariot. The king and queen embarked separate chariots driven by armored commanders. With a click and a flick of the reins the driver turned the heads of the horses and drove them into the desert, the army keeping pace behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ.

**DeNile**

Chapter Four

It was a metropolis, not a village. It rose out of the desert like a mirage, surrounded by cultivated palm and sycamore trees, the architecture far more advanced than Bulma would have expected. One and two story mud-brick buildings sprawled in a lazy, rambling morass that had no direction other than avoiding the walled courtyard at the feet of a trio of ziggurats that towered behind the city. The quartz dust in the sandstone made the palaces glitter gold in the late afternoon sun, the trick of light making them more magical than any European castle that Bulma dreamed of residing when fantasizing of marrying a prince.

To Bulma's disappointment they veered around the city in a curve that took them behind the palaces and away from the welcoming shade of the colorful cloth verandas attached to many of the buildings. They passed close enough to hear the guttural cries of venders at their stalls, the scent of roasting meat over fire pits viscerally reminding Bulma that she hadn't eaten in hours.

The army treading behind them spat out a cacophonous cadence that drowned out everything except their baritone voices. Like rats to the Pied Piper, copper-skinned peoples gradually filed out of the town, following their parade down to the riverbank. Most of the men were shirtless, wearing only pale linen trousers stained by their work. Women wore lightweight tunics that covered their chest, leaving their arms bare. A few residents wore robes dyed in brilliant colors such as azure and ocher.

The packed dirt and permanent structures gave way to cultivated fields covered in sparse, withered shoots baked under the sun. The rich soil cracked beneath the chariot's wheels and the reek of stagnant water, rotting vegetation, and dead fish filled the air.

They rolled to a stop at the edge of a muddy stream, and Bulma wrinkled her dainty nose, barely resisting the urge to raise her hand to cover the stench.

Two striking men approached the chariot. They wore leopard skins, knotted over one shoulder, that fell to uneven strips at their knees. Every inch of their exposed skin, including their shaved heads, was tattooed in a series of blue-lined hieroglyphs. Bulma couldn't read the language, but by the way even the regal couple bowed to them, it was obvious they held an important position. Possibly religious.

"Anuket," they chanted. The single word jangled her nerves. Bulma didn't like not knowing things. Not understanding. And this situation was a big fat zero on her Bulma-Knows-Everything scoreboard.

The priests crowded the back of the chariot, reaching for her with large, grasping hands.

"Hey! Back off!" She ineffectively slapped at them.

She squeezed her body against the far side, trying to put as much distance between her and the mob as possible. One particularly grim priest with a silver scar slithering down from the corner of his eye to his jawline grabbed her arm. Startled, she yanked away, reached for the side of the chariot, and dropping the time dilation device onto the floor.

"Vegeta!"

He ignored her cries. He braced his hips against the protective bar of the chariot, well away from her struggles, folded his arms, and _ignored _her.

He wasn't even tensed for battle. The priests weren't after him and he knew it. They wanted her. It hurt more than Bulma could say that he didn't give a flying fuck about it either.

She must never forget that Vegeta was an uncaring, heartless bastard. And if she did forget, well, he always managed to remind her.

Men from outside the chariot pried her hands off the side and she fell backwards into the priest's waiting arms.

They overwhelmed her, reverently pulling her out of the chariot. How they managed reverent while hauling her up into the air was a mystery, but there was an atmosphere of wonderment and idolatry to the entire proceedings. Their touches were admiring, their chanting awe-struck.

"Help me!" she demanded.

Vegeta's eyes were cold and dark as he watched. "I see no incentive to do so."

"You're not going to get home without me." She kicked the scarred man in the face and he grunted.

"You mean without this?" He held up the device. The sun glinted off the metal casing, momentarily blinding her.

There was a brief burst of chatter from the closest spectators, but Bulma was distracted by the uncomfortable world-rocking sensation of being hauled her up until she was supine, carried aloft over the priest's heads. She struggled, nearly falling before they righted her.

"Good luck getting it to work. You can't even work the dials in the gravity room without breaking them, you big ape!"

His eyes flashed before he turned his chin away like a spoiled brat. Undoubtedly, he was still pissed that she unwittingly stole his glory. Although, he should be thanking her. If she hadn't, he would be the one being manhandled at the moment. Albeit the idea of Vegeta being manhandled by anyone was laughable.

"You are an asshole!" she spat through her hair that was falling into her mouth.

The expression on his face was that of cold amusement right before she was flung through air with a loud rallying cry of, "Anuket!"

The world tilted. Blue sky and the hint of a white horizon flashed before her eyes, before she landed with a splash. She surfaced from the muddy, waist-deep water with an outraged sputter, wiping mud, slime, and her straggling, wet hair out of her face. It was impossible to stop the full body shudder that rippled through her as she settled up to her ankles in deep, slimy sediment.

She gagged on the smell. It was awful, rotting fish and drying slime. And she reeked of it.

A quick glance down confirmed that her once pristine white dress was sepia colored and outrageously transparent. Thank Kami for padded bras, the faithful companions to every girl with a b-cup.

"What the hell!" she screeched. Birds took flight out of the nearby reeds. "You threw me into the muck!"

The regal couple knelt on the bank. That in itself gave Bulma pause. They were patrician to the point of viewing other human beings as nothing more than furniture, yet they were kneeling in the mud.

"Anuket?"

"Oh, I'm going to Anuket you, alright. Right up your ass!" Furious wasn't a strong enough word to convey her feelings.

The couple looked at her, then at each other. This scenario was not going as they imagined. Not that Bulma could even begin to divine what the hell they had imagined would happen when they tossed her summarily into the dank filth.

As one the couple rose to their feet, turned on the tattooed priests and began to argue. _Heatedly. _In such a manner as to suggest the priests might be loosing their heads by sundown.

As a consequence of their argument, they completely ignored Bulma who was hissing like a drowned kitten. She tried to wade out of the water, but the muck-sucking hold wouldn't release its grip on her sandals. She was well and truly stuck.

"Will you _help _me?" Her screech was punctuated with a violent slap to the water, which only served to get more of the murky filth in her mouth. She spat, cursing in every language she knew. Which was many.

Including Namekian.

Vegeta raised a brow. He was absolutely certain what she suggested was impossible for the asexual creatures.

"Now, I really don't see the incentive to do so."

She narrowed her eyes at Vegeta. His tone was one of utter disdain as he glanced at her disheveled appearance, but there was a hint of a curve to his lower lip that _almost _looked like a smile about to be birthed. Well, that must be a trick of the light – mud in her eye – or some other explainable phenomena, because there was no way that the Prince of All Saiyans ever _smiled._

It was a trick, because before her eyes he became stone-faced, exuding danger that sent shivers down her spine. He wasn't staring at her, but through her, perhaps seeing something elusive in her character, taking her measure and finding her lacking.

The people ignored him as he stepped out of the chariot. They had been ignoring him all along. A mistake Bulma wasn't certain they'd live long enough to regret. She'd seen Vegeta kill with lightning quickness that was almost merciful if one thought about it with a certain slant of ethics. He certainty didn't make his victims suffer.

Well, except maybe her. He loved to make her suffer.

He was walking towards her, and it made her unaccountably nervous. No, he wasn't walking. He was stalking. A predator on the hunt. Surely he was going to help, wasn't he? He wouldn't murder her in front of these people just to prove his superiority. By now they had drawn quite the spectatorship and there were hundreds of victims other than her for him to select. He wouldn't choose her out of some sort of misplaced revenge, would he?

She was entirely focused on watching his eyes, knowing from experience that while they looked like flaming, black pits to others, to her, they predicted his every movement by the unholy light gleaming in them. It didn't look like he meant _her _harm, but he was definitely bent on harming _something._

Because she was watching his eyes, it took her a few minutes to realize something wasn't quite right. It was the dying of conversations around her that tipped her off.

The bastard was walking on water like Jesus Christ himself. Bulma narrowed her eyes. She knew for a fact that there was nothing godly about the arrogant asshole who sauntered towards her. No matter how vain his airs. In fact she was utterly certain that Hell had spat him out fully spawned and bent on destroying her precious sanity. But to the spectators he was engaging in a feat of magic that was truly awesome.

He stopped, his foot inches from her nose, close enough for her to see the displacement of the water from his ki. He reached for her and she eyed his hand distrustfully. She let her gaze wander from his outstretched palm, along his flexed arm and rounded, bronze shoulder to his eyes. They were gleaming, but she didn't see murderous intent. Was it humor? She studied him, and something darkened in his eyes, he flexed his fingers, the only indication that he was impatient. Or was it urgent? She'd never seen Vegeta urgent before.

She finally decided that Vegeta didn't have the sense of humor required to play a nasty trick on her. Her palm slid over his. His skin was warm and dry. The slightly raspy sensation against her much softer skin sent shivers up her arm.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and she noticed his fingers were longer than she expected a fighter to have. He had pianist hands, long, agile fingers and wide, strong palms. If hands could be aristocratic, then his would be an exemplary example.

His eyes darkened, his fingers locking down hard. There was no mercy on the hard-stamped contours of his features when without warning he hauled her up by one arm. She didn't come easily, the mud eager to keep its filthy grip on her. Despite her cries of pain from her shoulder joint being wrenched, he ruthlessly kept pulling until her sandal straps snapped, and she came free with a splash.

At least she thought it was her splashing. Terrified cries swirled up from the riverbank and beneath her there was a tremendous thrashing. They were hovering high in the air, and there was a sense of disconnect as she looked down to see an absurdly pretty undulation of soft, pink tissue. It was shiny and delicate, unlike the rows of inch long teeth surrounding it.

The maw snapped shut and she saw the reptilian eyes of a crocodile before it burst into ash that settled into an oily smear on the surface of the water.

"You killed it." Bulma was emotionless. _Shock, _she told herself. She was in shock. First, jackal armies, then pharaohs and now crocodiles that almost made a lunch of her. Had Vegeta seen it? A fleeting shadow beneath the surface of the water? Had he actually _saved _her?

"Yes."

She felt a stab of pity for the creature. Fish were rotting on the banks. The birds she disturbed looked like they had malted most of their feathers in anxiety and starvation. It was then she noticed that none of the people watching them were the least bit heavy. They were all slender. Hollow-cheeked and hungry-looking.

"That wasn't necessary. It was probably just hungry."

"Since it was you it was looking to eat I didn't think you'd object to me removing it as a threat."

"You didn't remove it. You killed it. That's animal cruelty."

"You didn't object when I killed the scorpions."

"That's because they were _giant _scorpions!"

"Oh. You're not a hypocrite, at all."

"How's that hypocritical?" She was pressed tightly against his side, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Her arms were wound around his neck in a death grip that belied her calm. Inside she was crying like a little girl for her mommy, but damned if she'd show that to him. She took perverse satisfaction that her sopping wet dress was sticking against him like the hungry suckers of an octopus. It'd served him right if he came up smelling like dead fish too.

"Normal gets a pass, but abnormal needs to be killed with fire."

Her toes slipped off the arch of his foot where she was trying to balance and he hauled her closer. One lean thigh bent, pressing high and tight between her legs so she was riding him. She inhaled, curling her fingers until her nails formed half circles wounds on his back. His skin was taut and firm beneath her hands, begging to be explored.

"That's not true. I let you live," she replied dryly.

"As if you could kill me, woman," he scoffed. His hand stretched over her hip, his fingertips finding the valley of her pelvis. His palm felt large and secure against her. The heat of him warmed her through the insubstantial fabric of her transparent dress.

"I can do anything if I put my mind to it," she promised darkly.

She felt the shudder of ice run down Vegeta's spine, and smiled in victory.

Movement rippled along the riverbank. They nearly didn't notice, they were so involved with each other. The peoples were kneeling in the muck and this time they had eyes only for Vegeta.

"Ah. Your public awaits."

By the look Vegeta cut her, he was not amused.

"Yes. And all it took was removing some hapless vermin." Too little too late, his tone implied.

"They must not have seen you totally annihilate those jackals. They were pretty far away."

He turned his head to look at her, his gaze considering. "That still doesn't explain why they thought _you _were the one to do so."

"Hey!" That sounded vaguely insulting. She could so totally take out an army of giant scorpions and jackal-men with the proper resources and time to prepare. Not everybody had unlimited, untapped power flowing through their veins. Some had to compensate. Not that she needed to compensate for anything. She was perfect. Just not power-flowy.

_Whatever. _She truly hated him.

"Or why they threw into the drink."

Was he laughing? Behind that dour expression and emotionless eyes, he was laughing at her!

"The drink? You're not allowed to use slang. It's creepy. Stop reading my father's crime noirs."

He shifted and his thigh rubbed her sex at the absolute perfect angle. She inhaled sharply, her nails digging into his back.

The hollow in his jaw flexed.

OH. MY. GOD.

He was doing it on purpose.

Bulma pushed away from him until her back arched over his arm. Unfortunately, this angle only urged her against his thigh more tightly. A single dark brow lifted in question.

"You…I…You!"

"Me?" He was so calm it was infuriating. Her blood boiled.

"Put me down over there." She motioned to the bank where the Egyptians were still kneeling.

"You'd take your chances with—" His cold gaze slid over the prone forms in distaste. "Them."

Kami, he was such a stuck up prig!

"Yes," she hissed.

His jaw hardened and before she knew it she was dropped on the bank, her feet breaking the dried crust of mud and sinking into what she could only describe as _disgusting._

"Don't ask me again for help, woman," he commanded from his superior perch in the air.

"I won't!"

"Fine." He crossed his arms, turning his back so he surveyed the opposite bank with haughty disdain.

"Fine!" She turned her back, but her disdain turned to unease as she met the calculating, almond-eyed gaze of the Egyptian queen.


End file.
